


And the yes is found in the conversation

by Shiplockrewrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Mary in the background, Not a lot of sex but sexual situations, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Season/Series 03 Fix-It, not really any sex just ya know suggestive touching n what not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1963221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiplockrewrites/pseuds/Shiplockrewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think a man like you," Sherlock pauses and takes a breath. "Could a man like you..." Sherlock stops speaking, gets up and heads to the kitchen. He walks back in a moment later with the Scotch bottle at his mouth. </p><p>*****</p><p>I just wanted to put them in a room and make them talk to each other for a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the yes is found in the conversation

John leans forward in his chair holding his RAMC mug in a loose grasp of his hands. He peers down into the amber mixture of tea and mostly Scotch. Or maybe just Scotch. There was tea once. But that was three cups ago. He stares at the liquid that never quite stills in his hand. He's not shaking as much as he just can't stop moving around a bit. Antsy. Like he's Sherlock and can't quite settle down. Slowly he brings the cup to his lips and takes a small sip. Holds the Scotch in his mouth and lets it burn his tongue just a bit. Doesn't swallow for a long time.  Focuses on the intense feel of hard liquor in his mouth. Letting it sit there and numb the feeling of his tongue. Stop him from speaking and soon numb his ability to be conscious. He slides forward to the edge of his chair and holds the mug in between his legs. Looks down into it again. It's doing the job right now. That's all it needs to do. And yet he can't stop looking at it like it has more answers for him. He feels then focuses and sees Sherlock's hands cover his. Sherlock holds momentarily then takes the mug from John’s hands. John doesn't look up at Sherlock. Doesn't want to see his face but he glances up just a bit to see his mug in Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock’s strong hands. Big hands.

"Bigger than mine," John says without looking up. Doesn't explain further. Sherlock will know.

"Not by much and definitely not more capable than yours, " Sherlock says.

They sit in quiet for a minute. Sherlock who is never quiet simply sits. Waits for John to slowly drift his eyes up to meet his.

"You..bastard."  Sherlock frowns like the words matter and John thinks that is such utter bullshit. They don't. If they mattered then he wouldn't have done it. He wouldn't have left and put him in this situation.

"I'm-"

"Shut up. Just shut up," John says and Sherlock shuts up. "I don't want to hear it anymore. Not from you. Not from her. Not from...me.”

"Fine." Sherlock takes the cup to his lips and drinks down the rest of its contents.

"I was...I was going to finish that," John says, collapses back in his seat, and closes his eyes. He'd like to sleep. It'd be nice to sleep for a few moments. Unconscious from the fucked up world he's living in where nothing adds up anymore. Maybe it never could. Not once Sherlock was taken out of the equation.

"John?" Sherlock says almost in a whisper, sits the mug down, and leans forward in his chair. He waits for John to look at him. And he does. He looks him dead in the eyes. He stares at the bloody stupid eyes that can't decide what colour they want to be. He stares at the face of a man who looks almost as confused as John feels right now.

"What is it?"

"Do you think a man like you," Sherlock pauses and takes a breath. "Could a man like you..." Sherlock stops speaking, gets up and heads to the kitchen. He walks back in a moment later with the Scotch bottle at his mouth.

"Liquid courage?"

"Is that what is to you?" Sherlock smirks then slips his jacket off his shoulders then on to the back of his chair and sits. Somehow he seems to put on more layers even as he shucks one off.

"No, no for me it's....," John pauses and tries to think of the right word. "Just a moment.  A bit of room to think."

"A room filled with murky thoughts where nothing quite connects."

"Don't like being drunk then?"

"Don't like not being able to think. To focus."

"You don't get tired of it?" John prompts hoping for Sherlock to admit that just once he'd like to be ordinary. There would be some hope in that. Not that he wants normal. Just that he wishes Sherlock could appreciate the ordinary things and people around him.

"No." Sherlock lies and they both know it. Neither of them says.

"You were saying?" John nestles in his chair. His chair that belongs to him. The one where he sat on many days and nights before. Nights waiting for Sherlock to brilliantly deduce something or other. Nights spent mourning the bastard. And then one night where he found out the woman he loved was a liar and everything he knew to be true was fucked.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"It does. You had to get a drink n' all. You wanted to ask something." John squints his eyes. He can't deduce a damn thing about Sherlock other than he's sitting tensely. That's only a slightly worse deduction than John can do when he's sober. He does see something else. Something he doesn't really know how to name.

"Well. Do you think a man like you could ever love a man like me?" Sherlock takes another swig from the bottle and then leans forward.  He hands it to John who takes it out his hands and takes his own swig. That answers that. He didn't know that. No, that's a lie. He did. He knew that if Sherlock did want someone then it'd be more likely to be someone with a dick than a nice set of tits.

"Didn't know you really wanted that," John says because it's the first thing that comes to his mind. There never was anyone before. There was Irene but she wasn't really anyone in the end. Really the only person besides John who Sherlock spent any time with was Greg. Does he fancy Greg?

"No, I don't fancy Lestrade. He likes Molly as you may have noticed."

"What? Does he? Yeah. I hope that works. They'd be good to each other. They both deserve someone good."

"Mm."

"Yeah someone like me could love a man like you. He'd need to like to do the cleaning though. Would need to have a tough stomach to handle the body parts but yeah he's out there for you. If you want it. Do you?"

"I don't know. I had previously thought myself..."

"Married to your work?"

"I didn't think I could really want someone. To be with them. To want to touch them but now ...I do." Sherlock finishes and John could swear Sherlock doesn't want to meet his eyes but finally he does. Sherlock and him stare at each other for a minute until John breaks the stare. Looks away. Laughs. Contemplates his next move. What he's going to say now that it's out there? Even if it's not totally out there.

"Good. Yeah. I'm glad. Everyone deserves that one special person." John clears his throat "You have anyone in mind?"

"Yes, his name is Victor."

"Oh?" John says and he is actually a little impressed with himself to have made any sound. He feels...deflated. He feels like the fuckin rug has been pulled from under his feet again.  And this time it seems to make even less sense than when Mary told him that she was an assassin who shot Sherlock because she loved him so much.

"Yes, I met him while I was away. We formed a...bond. It didn't go anywhere as I had to be off to Croatia to help track down three assassins but I did enjoy our time together." Sherlock smiles and adds "He reminded me of you a bit. Well he's actually the opposite of you but we...fit.  Kind of like how this," Sherlock waves his hand between them " just works."

"Why not me then?" John says and fuckin hell where the fuck did that come from? He takes another swig of the Scotch.  20 years old and being absolutely wasted as a conversational lubricant. He sets the bottle down with a clunk on the floor. He wants to take it back. Looks out the window behind Sherlock as if the question could just fly out the room and be forgotten. But fuck it. It really and truly is out there now.

"Well a few reasons, John." Sherlock smiles and stands up.  John thinks if the bastard steeples his fingers under his chin like he's deducing some random fuckin mystery then he'll punch him. He wants to punch him already. That'd clinch it.  "First is that you're not gay. Second is not as compelling as you not being gay but you are married so that is also relevant. Finally we have , and again not as strong as the not gay that was listed first, but you don't want me."

"Bollocks!" And John stands up. He roots himself to the floor. Knows it's smarter to stand by the chair because he doesn't want to get close to Sherlock. Doesn't really know what he's saying now.

"Do sit down, John. You're drunk and this isn't one of your crap telly shows with a dramatic fight to settle matters. This is simply two friends having a civilised conversation."

"No, this is you fuckin' lying to me once again." John takes a step forward. "As if I haven't had a lifetime of lies from people who are supposed to love me."

"I'm-"

"Sit." John points at the chair with a command. Sherlock sits quickly and crosses his legs. He steeples his fingers and John rolls his eyes.

"I didn't mean for this to turn out like this. I merely wanted to suppose a question and maybe take your mind off things."

"God." John scrubs his hands over his face. Breathes in and out. Sits as well. Drops his hand to his lap and squeezes. He wants to reach for the bottle next to his chair but the fact that he wants to reach for the bottle is more than enough reason to stop him from doing it. Not now. Now he has to be sober. Now he has to stop running. It's enough. It's done.

"So this Victor?" John says because he wants to see what he'll say next. The lying prick.

"Tall. Well tall as me. Maybe an inch higher."

"Nice."

"Very intelligent. Cultured. He's handsome."

"Good."

"He's...he's like me. I think we could pair well."

"Like a nice bottle of wine with a bloody three-course meal."

"I don't understand. Why is this bothering you? " Sherlock tilts his head and looks at John. John doesn't try to hide a thing. He wants him to see. See it all here. "You married her," Sherlock finally says.

"You gave me no other choice."

"That's not--That's not true, John. You love her."

"I loved someone who doesn't exist. I… see her at work and I just find myself staring at her. Wondering if anything she told me is the truth. Is her favorite color yellow or is that just part of the character? And I can't ask, can I? So I just have to wonder."

"I'm an open book, am I?"

"No, no not saying that."

"You're not gay. No matter what experiences you might have had in the army. A few tugs behind the mess hall does not a gay man make."

"Fuck you.” John stands quickly. “Fuck you, Sherlock. You don't know anything.” John walks around his chair in a loop and then again. God what are they saying? What are they doing? Why fuckin' now anyway?

He stops in front of Sherlock and drops to his knees in front of him. Sherlock looks down at him and John relishes that look of confusion. The raised and furrowed brow. He likes when he confuses him. It's one of his greatest joys.

"Open your legs,” he says and Sherlock obeys. John immediately fills the space between them. He runs his hands up and down Sherlock's thighs. He looks down and waits for the outline to appear. It doesn't take long before Sherlock's erection is there and John immediately bows his head and runs his tongue along the outline of Sherlock's shaft. Back and forth. Sherlock hardens even further and whimpers. John stops and leans back up. He looks Sherlock in the eyes. Neither of them blink for a long minute.

"That's just..." Sherlock starts to say but somehow lets out  a squeak. He clears his throat and tries to situate himself. “It’s just sex."

"You want me, " John says and puts his hand on Sherlock's shaft. He lightly rubs the palm of his hand along the outline. "Say it."

Sherlock shakes his head like he's a fuckin' child who doesn't want to own up to the mess he's made. John leans in and whispers in his ear. "Why won't you say it?"  Silence.  "All this fucking time. Me and you. When did you know, Sherlock? Took me ages.”

Sherlock doesn’t move. John hears him taking long breaths. “Fuck. I didn't know until after I was married and I was on my honeymoon. Mary was asleep and we'd just made love. It was good but I was still up for more.” John hooks his finger in the waist of Sherlock’s pants. “I thought about a lot of things as I wanked in the bathroom but you know what made me finally come?"

"What?" Sherlock says and John leans down. His lips find Sherlock’s pulse point on his neck and he licks slowly.

"You. Picturing you. Me fucking you." Sherlock shivers.  John hops up and sits back in his chair. The most graceful exit he’s ever pulled off.  He smirks. Sherlock looks murderous. John's smile grows larger by the second. Finally Sherlock seems to calm his breath.

"Nevertheless."

"Shut it."

"So I want you. God what does it matter? You're a handsome, capable, intelligent man. You have nice skin, wonderful hair, and beautiful eyes. Of course I want you. It's just that though. So we move on."

"You don't just fuckin want me. You love me," John says and the accusation hangs in the air only for a minute before Sherlock picks it up and flings it out the window with one word.

"Mary." And the fun stops. The teasing is done and Sherlock knows it. Because what the hell is he supposed to do about Mary? She is carrying his child for God's sake.  It’s his. She'd had the highly dangerous tests performed to prove it. John hadn't asked but when he came into the clinic one day the results were on his desk. At first he thought she could've faked them but he checked all the information. His child.  No matter what she'd done that child was his and he felt like he had to try to stay.  And she did love him.  He did love a part of her still. It could be enough. It should be enough.

"True." is all he could say.

Sherlock stands up without a word and takes his violin out the case.

***

The first note was fire but by the end of the piece 20 minutes later it's fallen into a melancholy wail of remorse and John knew it was saying everything he couldn't. John often had to translate Sherlock to the world but more often the violin would translate Sherlock to John.  Sherlock stands back from the window and places the violin in the case as John stands up and walks near him. He waits until the case closes then crowds Sherlock towards him. He hugs him and waits for Sherlock to return the embrace. After long moments Sherlock holds onto John and melts into the touch.

"It wouldn't work, John"

"I know."

"She is carrying your baby."

John huffs out a laugh.

"Staying together for the kids always bloody works out right?"

Sherlock chuckles and dislodges their connection just a bit then Sherlock grasps even tighter than before. He leans his head on John's shoulders and sighs.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I've been in love with you since before I left and..."

"I know."

"We are idiots."

"I believe we are, yes." John pulls back from the hug and kisses Sherlock. Sherlock’s cheeks are wet and John swipes away the tears. "I can't believe you tried to make me jealous. Does he even exist?"

"Oh, yes he does. But he's not you."

"She's not you either."

"How the fuck is this going to work, John?" Sherlock smiles weakly. John chuckles and smiles back. He does so love it when Sherlock curses.

"I don't fuckin’ know. God Sherlock I don’t. I just... I'm just tired of this. Who the fuck are we fooling? We love each other. Who gives a fuck if you have a penis? You're my, God help me, my goddamn soul-mate. It always come back to this. To me wanting to be with you in every conceivable way.  So why fuckin fight it?” John pauses and looks away at the wallpaper and the bullet holes.  Suddenly he knows. He absolutely fuckin knows “It's going to work, Sherlock, because we work. Okay?"

"Okay.”

"Alright?"

"Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of like what I've wrote here. I hope you do too.


End file.
